LOST: The Price of Sin
by knsdlbhdsglh
Summary: Kevin Teller, a perfectly normal man, ended the life of his murderous father. Boarding Flight 815, he hoped to live a normal life in Los Angeles, away from his past. But Flight 815 crashed on a deserted island...
1. Prologue

Prologue

Sitting at the very front of the plane, he wanted to shake that grim feeling gripping the back of his head with its cold, icy palm. But he couldn't deny the inevitable fact that he did what he did, rather, what he HAD to do in order to survive. He felt the guilt in his stomach, like a landslide eating away at his very existence. It was there, malignant and growing like a tumor threatening the very life of him. He began to sweat furiously, twiddling his thumbs to take his mind off things. He leaned backwards and slumped in his chair, slinking down and wishing he didn't even exist.

Just then the plane began to rattle and for a moment, everyone lost their balance. Assured that it was just turbulence, he settled back into his seat, straightening out his T-shirt to ease the worries in his head. But clearly, the rumbling was not just turbulence. The entire back of the plane tore off in mid-air, dragging with it a seat or two from the section still in the air. He couldn't bring himself to look back, but he could hear the screeching and the air whooshing, and he certainly could feel the vacuum-like suction that nearly tore him apart. And then blackness.


	2. Chapter 1: 'Sociable'

Chapter 1: 'Sociable'

His body malfunctioned. It chose to shut down, like a piece of machinery that just took too much and could handle it no longer. He finally came to, but not to the environment he expected. Instead of a more-than-cozy airplane seat with a tone of quiet chatter in the air, he awoke to the sound of a cacophony, the dissonance of shrieks and burning pieces of wreckage. Somehow, he brought himself up to his knees, shaking his head and holding his neck, where a nasty cut was left as a result of the crash. He was in a volatile, yet isolated, state.

Trudging around the beach, discombobulated and in pain, he looked around at all the people. Running around, shouting for others, just plain screaming. _God, could these people just shut the fuck up?_ He thought to himself. He was never a fan of loud noises or the headaches they brought him. Struggling to stay upright, his legs gave in and sank. With a hard and heavy _thud!_, he hit the floor and blacked out to unconsciousness again.

"Are you awake?"

The tender, soothing sound of a woman's voice aroused him from his slumber, or rather, unconscious state.

He was greeted with the smile of a freckled-faced woman.

"I was wondering when you'd come to," she said. "You were out so cold, you didn't even notice that you were being stitched up," she continued, giggling just a bit.

Realizing that there was a bit of stinging pain on his neck, he put his fingers to where the cut was and realized that it was sewed up. He brought his hands to his face and analyzed them. No blood.

The woman held a tray of airplane food to him. "You must be hungry," she said.

He then realized his stomach was groaning in agonizing pain. The sun had set long ago and the moon took its place center stage in the pitch-black sky. He took the tray, and nodded. She stood up and was about to walk away, but just before she could turn her back, she was interrupted.

"Wait," he said, rousing her attention. Naturally, she turned around. "What's your name?" He asked. A natural introductory question to ask just about anyone, even hot, and at the same time modest, women on deserted islands.

She flashed a mischievous smile. "My name's Kate," she said. "And you?"

A tiny smile crept its way onto his face, and Kate surely noticed it too. "I'm Kevin," he replied.

"Kevin," she echoed. "You're pretty sociable," she said, chuckling. She turned back around and walked off.


	3. Chapter 2: Formalities

Chapter 2: Formalities

Kevin realized he was completely isolated from all of the other castaways, aside from the stunningly lovely Kate. He figured if it was time to introduce himself, now would be a good time. After all, he could be gone any second. The stakes were high and he wasn't about to take any chances.

_Kate said I was being stitched up… and I'm sure she wasn't the one who did it, _he thought. _Maybe I should go and find the person who did. _

Speak of the devil, a man walked by. He called out to him. "What was your name?" the man asked.

Kevin shook his head and turned to face the man. "My name's Kevin," he replied.

The man nodded. "Kevin." Pointing to him with a water bottle in hand, he asked, "How's the neck doing?"  
Kevin put a hand to where the stitches were. "Good, thanks."

The man nodded again and smiled.

"You the guy who stitched me up?" asked Kevin.

"Yeah, I am."

"What's your name?"

"Jack."

"Ah. You were a doctor before the crash."

"It would appear so," he said with a little chuckle. "I still am."

The two men shared a laugh. At least Kevin wasn't feeling alienated any more.

"Hey," continued Jack. "You want to help me out?"

"Sure, what do you need?"

"I'm trying to find all the water bottles and…"

But before he could continue, he was interrupted abruptly by a loud, crashing noise, followed by howls and groans. Trees were falling and everyone's attention was drawn to the epicenter of this craziness. Looks like there were monsters to socialize with on this island as well.


	4. Chapter 3: Rise

Chapter 3: Rise

Everyone was rattled up by the noises of the 'monster' hiding in their backyard. Kevin was no exception. It was late, though, and he chose sleep as the best option aside from panicking and crying. He tried to find a bed among the tree branches, soft, yet cutting, sand and the wreckage of the behemoth plane that once carried him and many others in the sky. Remembering that, even if landing on a remote island in the middle of the pacific gave you tabula rasa, the things he did would be with him forever, etched in the cold, hard stone slab he called his conscience and inked with blood.

"KEVIN, YOU OPEN THIS GODDAMN DOOR RIGHT NOW!" cried a voice that boomed through the barred door. Fists pounded furiously. The chair, the piece of wood, the books, they all were about to give way to the behemoth's astonishing strength.

Kevin sat down miserably in the bed that once belonged to his sister, staring at the 9mm he held in his hand. Separating himself from the banging and shouting just a couple feet away, he loaded in a new clip at the bottom of the gun and pulled back the recoil. He stood up and had his gun in hand, at the ready. He moved the chair over and the entire door crashed open. A hulking man with orange-brown hair trimmed neatly into a buzz cut stumbled into the room, startled at the sudden release of the door. Shaking himself from the impact, he straightened himself up.

"What the FUCK were you doing?!" he cried. "I'm your goddamn father! You best listen to every-FUCKING-word I have to say!"

Just then, Kevin raised the gun to his father's face.

Staring down the barrel of the gun, he couldn't help but laugh.

"My sissy-ass son… packing heat. I bet you don't even know how to use the fucking…"

"Shut up." His lip quavered and his arm trembled. His moral values and his conscience told him that killing a man was not the answer. But his head and gut was ready to pull the trigger and end the nightmare.

"HAH! You don't have the guts. You were just like your momma. A wimp. She didn't fight back. Look how she ended up…"

"YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP, RIGHT NOW!" he exclaimed.

"Well, well. You've got some bark. I always knew you'd turn out better than your little sister would. Which is why I saved you for last."

"Oh, you're not going to get the better of me," he said. "You killed Polly because she SAW you kill mom in cold blood. She was only eight."

"We going to be reciting monologues back and forth or are we going to make progress?" He reached into his back pocket. "Last chance, son. You can end me like a man or die like a coward."

And so he pulled the trigger back. The shot echoed in the cold, damp walls and reverberated throughout the house – and his body. The recoil was not much physically, but mentally, he completely shut down. He was a killer for life, so it was written in the slab of his mind.


End file.
